


Running on Adrenalin

by ellijay



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellijay/pseuds/ellijay
Summary: Tag to "Evolution of the Daleks." The Doctor takes care of some unfinished business with Lazlo, and Martha discovers the Doctor has driven himself physically up to and right over the edge during their time in New York.





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to aranhe for beta reading and making me take a harder look at some of my assumptions. I'm much more satisfied with the story because of her input.

_That_ , Martha berated herself as she walked up the ramp toward the control console of the TARDIS, _is definitely one of the most insensitive things I’ve said in recent memory. There’s someone for everyone?_ She felt nauseous. After she’d learned in New New York how completely and utterly alone the Doctor was, in a way she couldn’t possibly imagine – her stomach twisted into knots if her thoughts even tried to go that way – she had to go and remind him of it? She hadn’t meant it that way, she’d truly only been referring to Lazlo and Tallulah, but the way he’d reacted, all life draining out of him and that quiet “maybe,” told her he was thinking of something else entirely, and she couldn’t imagine what else it would be.

Her head was throbbing and tears pricked at her eyes as she recalled the singing floating through the air in that dark, damp alley. She remembered with painful clarity the way he’d admitted he’d lied to her and the heartbreaking reason why he’d done so, just so he could imagine his people, his loved ones, his friends and family were still alive. All of it gone, completely and irrevocably, sacrificed to save the universe from an unrelenting evil.

She slowed down as the reality hit her in a way it hadn’t when they were running for their lives. She had come face to face with the enemy he had told her about in that New New York alley – the Daleks, the very ones the Time Lords had fought and laid down their lives to defeat. The Doctor had been so quiet and melancholy then as he told her about the wonders of his lost home. Now, though, she had seen his rage, despair and desperation as it burned and boiled through that gentle sadness. When he had faced down the Daleks in Hooverville and again in the theater, she had both feared him and feared _for_ him.

As the Doctor brushed past her now, she resisted the urge to catch him by the arm. To do what, she wasn’t sure. Hug him? He’d probably only stand there stiffly and tolerate her efforts to comfort him. Maybe he’d hug her back, but right now it would likely be more of a reflex on his part. Did she think she could look into his eyes and say something deep and meaningful to ease the pain? But what could she possibly say to a loss as all-encompassing as his?

She stopped at the top of the ramp and watched as he walked around the console, one hand in his pocket, the other flipping levers and half-heartedly pushing buttons, starting the dematerialization sequence. Her feet automatically carried her to the edge of the control console, and she waited for him to do or say something. She hoped he would take the initiative since she was completely lost for words and couldn’t bear standing there in silence for much longer.

When he finally looked up at her, there was still an echo of all that rage and despair in his eyes, enough to make her flinch, to feel as though fire had swept past her just inches away. After a moment of paralysis, she looked away.

He said, “Sorry,” very quietly. Sorry for what? Sorry for bringing her here? Sorry he wasn’t dead? She jerked her mind away from that thought. No. He was probably sorry for letting her see the slightest hint of what he was feeling. That was a much safer mental route for her to go down. He’d let her see he could be hurt, that he did hurt, that there was what amounted to an inferno behind his cheerful façade.

He was the complete polar opposite of Lazlo, who wore his heart on his sleeve, what he felt for Tallulah shining through even that horrible face the Daleks had left him with. Martha had nothing but respect and admiration for Tallulah in accepting Lazlo as he was, but she couldn’t help but wish that Tallulah could’ve had her old Lazlo back, complete and whole, with a face he wouldn’t have to hide. Tallulah was the Gawain to his Rangell, only there was no magic to make him beautiful again. Or was there?

She resisted the urge to blurt her idea right out. She wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the Doctor in a dark mood, and she still felt as if she were on tenuous ground as far as her welcome on the TARDIS was concerned, despite or maybe because of all they’d done together since she’d met him. But if she knew one thing, it was that it was in his nature to help, to save, to protect. Maybe this was what he needed, what they both needed to turn away from dark memories and even darker thoughts.

She tentatively said, “Doctor?” When he looked up at her, the anger seemed to have passed, but there was such a weary sadness in his eyes that she hesitated. Instead of jumping right into the heart of the matter, she backed off a bit and only said, “Can I ask you a question?” Leaving it up to him whether he even wanted to engage in conversation at that moment.

He stared at her for a moment as if trying to determine what she was going to ask, then nodded and replied, “As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with Daleks.” A muscle twitched in his cheek as he said the name.

She hesitated again, but then reminded herself that she only wanted to help Lazlo and Tallulah and maybe help the Doctor a bit in the process. “Isn’t there some way to put Lazlo’s face back to what it was? I know you had a struggle to even keep him alive, and I’ll completely understand if you say it isn’t possible, but seeing as this is a time machine, I was hoping there might be some place in the future where that sort of thing might be possible.”

He blinked at her for a few moments. She could’ve sworn he was struggling to stay upright and awake – who could blame him, considering the physical and emotional turmoil he’d been through recently – but then something flashed in his eyes that had nothing to do with anger or grief. A grin spread over his face and manic energy flowed back into him. He hopped up and down a bit, hitting his forehead with his palm. “Oh, I’m thick! Thick, thick, thick.”

Martha was a bit taken aback by the sudden change in his entire demeanor. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Oh, yes, definitely yes.” He went flying around the console, hitting levers and buttons, until he pulled up short in front of her and said with his face inches away from hers, “Thick as thick is thick, that’s me.” He took her by the shoulders and gently moved her away from the console, then continued his crazed dance.

She was beginning to fear for his sanity when he slammed down one last lever and gave one more knob an emphatic twist. The TARDIS jolted and shook, and Martha had to make a frantic grab for one of the railings to keep from being thrown into the control console or onto the floor.

The Doctor didn’t seem to be the least bit affected. Like a sailor on the deck of a ship in a heaving ocean, he skipped lightly over to stop in front of her as the TARDIS stilled. “Did I mention I was thick?” He grinned and pointed a finger at her. “And you’re very clever, my medical-doctor-to-be.”

He ran down the ramp and yanked the TARDIS doors open, bursting out into the sunshine. She trailed after him with a worried frown on her face. Of course, she’d seen him before now running around like a kid who’d had far too many sweets, but this was extreme. Combined with the degree of change in his energy level and how quickly it had happened, she was beginning to be a bit concerned.

As she stepped out onto the grass, she saw that he had landed them in the park where they’d said their farewells to Lazlo, Tallulah and Frank. Frank had gone, but Lazlo and Tallulah were sitting next to each other on a bench, holding hands.  They both stared in utter confusion at the Doctor as he strode purposefully over to them, grabbed Lazlo by the arm and yanked him off the bench. “I’m not done with you yet,” was all he said to Lazlo as he pulled him into the TARDIS and slammed the door. Martha was left standing next to a startled Tallulah, who had jumped to her feet as Lazlo was pulled away from her.

The door of the TARDIS popped back open a few seconds later. The Doctor stuck his head out, grinning from ear to ear, said, “Back in a tick,” then slammed the door again. Martha and Tallulah both flinched, then watched as the TARDIS dematerialized.

As the wind whipped up by the TARDIS’s departure faded, Tallulah gasped, “Wow! That’s some kind of magic trick.”

Martha smiled. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

“What’s that Doctor of yours up to now? And he’s crazy, by the way, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Martha gave a slight bark of laughter. “Yeah, I had noticed that actually. But it’s a good kind of crazy. Usually.” She frowned as worry wormed its way back into her thoughts, but she pushed it aside to deal with later. “As for what he’s up to, wait and see.” She could barely hold in her delight at what she hoped was about to happen.

Martha was expecting Tallulah to start asking more questions, but she waited silently, shifting a bit from foot to foot with a concerned look on her face. Martha shook her head, marveling at how well Tallulah had taken so many strange things in stride. Maybe she was just beyond the point of wanting to understand or even caring about anything but Lazlo’s safe return.

This left Martha with a few moments to turn her thoughts back to her earlier concern about the Doctor’s behavior. This wasn’t the first time he’d had such a radical swing in mood and energy since they’d been in New York. After the gamma radiation strike on the Empire State Building, he’d barely been able to move, or even open his eyes for that matter, but he’d sprung right up when she’d pointed out there was still Dalekanium attached to the mast. Then in the lab when Lazlo was dying, the Doctor had been so quiet at first, but then popped to his feet, ripped off his coat and began to wildly bounce from one side of the lab to the other, stirring and pouring and lighting Bunsen burners like a veritable Doctor Jekyll. It all seemed a bit odd to her, even though she had to admit she really knew very little of the Doctor. She just had an unsettled feeling about his behavior.

She didn’t have time to pursue that train of thought any further since the TARDIS was already rematerializing, this time a bit further across the park. “That was fast,” Tallulah said, walking quickly towards the TARDIS. Martha smiled as she followed. If all had gone well, this was going to be amazing.

The door of the TARDIS slowly creaked open, and the Doctor stood there holding the door and looking back into the TARDIS. “Go on then,” he said, leaning his head towards Tallulah, then turning to give Tallulah a subdued smile. When Martha saw the Doctor’s face, she stopped walking and frowned. He looked absolutely exhausted – dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders sagging. She even thought she saw him sway a bit as he stood there. She’d never seen him truly tired; quite the contrary, actually.

Then Lazlo emerged from the TARDIS and started walking towards Tallulah, his head down with his hat still on. Tallulah was standing very still and was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and what Martha thought might be fear. “Lazlo?” Tallulah whispered hesitantly.

Lazlo stopped, lifted his head, and smiled the most amazingly joyous smile Martha had seen in recent memory. A smile with straight, human teeth, nothing but teeth with no tusks, and a normal human nose and ears in place of the snout and pig ears he’d had before. His face had been completely restored.

Even though she’d been expecting it, Martha felt tears welling up in her eyes as Lazlo walked quickly to Tallulah and gathered her carefully into his arms. He smiled affectionately at her and said, “Hello, Tallulah with three l’s and an h. Remember me?”

“Oh, Lazlo!” she cried as her eyes darted back and forth across his face, one of her hands resting on his shoulder while the other ran down his cheek, across his lips and back to his ear, all the while staring at him in absolute wonder.

Martha wrapped her arms around herself and walked around them, giving them a wide berth. Her worry came back full force as she got a closer look at the Doctor. He really did look absolutely knackered. As she stopped beside him, he swayed and bumped into her with his shoulder. “Oh, sorry,” he muttered, then quickly added, “We’d better be off then.”

Martha nodded. He wasn’t moving, though. He was holding tightly onto the doorframe of the TARDIS, his knuckles white. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled himself upright.

At that moment, there was a small gasp of pain from Lazlo, followed by Tallulah desperately asking him what was wrong. Martha jerked around to see what was happening. Lazlo was still holding Tallulah in a careful embrace, but his face was creased in pain. Martha looked quickly back at the Doctor, but he was smiling as he said, “You might want to wait a bit on the kissing, give him a little more time to heal.”

Lazlo was gently brushing a bit of hair away from Tallulah’s face. “It’s all right. I’m fine.” Tallulah nodded, her expression still concerned while Lazlo looked over at the Doctor, not letting go of Tallulah for one moment. “Thank you,” he said with tears glimmering in his eyes. “I just…” He shook his head, apparently lost for words. “Thank you,” he said again, even more solemnly than the first time.

“Aww, not a problem,” the Doctor said, as if he turned pigs into men on a regular basis. Then he added with gentle sincerity plainly evident in his voice, “Good luck to the both of you. You’ll be brilliant, I know.” He turned and disappeared into the TARDIS, stumbling and knocking into the doorframe as he went.

Martha watched him just long enough to make sure he kept to his feet, then took a moment to turn back to Lazlo and Tallulah. She didn’t know what else she could add to what the Doctor had already said, though, so she simply said, “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Martha,” Tallulah replied with a little wave, then she gave Martha a stern look and shook a finger at her. “Don’t you keep lettin’ that man look right through you, you hear me?”

Martha nodded as she said, “I hear you.” But really, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that particular subject at the moment. She set it aside to think about later, then turned, went into the TARDIS and closed the door.


	2. Crashing

As Martha entered the TARDIS, the Doctor was absently fiddling with the control console, seemingly lost in thought. She walked as quietly as she could up the ramp, her concern for his well-being notching up even further. His face was pale and lined with fatigue, and the greenish glow lighting his face only accentuated his plainly evident exhaustion and made him look more than a bit unwell.

As she reached the top of the ramp, she tripped over his coat, which was in a pile on the floor, not in its usual place in the crook of one of the support struts. She picked it up and hung it over the railing, absently brushing it off a bit. She then turned her attention back to the Doctor and started to ask him if he was okay, but obviously he wasn’t, and he’d probably lie about it anyway. She sighed and said quietly, “You look tired.” He didn’t answer, just continued to stare off into empty air. “Doctor?” she said a bit louder.

He sucked a breath in through his nose, and looked towards her, but she didn’t think he was really focusing on her. “Hmm? What was that?”

“I said you look tired.”

He blinked at her for a long moment without speaking, then finally said, “Suppose I am a bit.” He slowly flipped a lever, then paused, his brow furrowed as he seemed to struggle to find the next control he wanted. He waved his index finger around, then finally stabbed at a button, and the TARDIS began to dematerialize.

“More than a bit.” Martha folded her arms over her chest, determined to get some answers. “How long were you gone with Lazlo anyway?”

“What?” He paused in his slow wandering around the control console, checking and adjusting switches and dials here and there as he went. “Oh, just a few hours. Reconstructive surgery in the 43rd century is really quite amazing. Well, really wasn’t all that difficult a job – nip the ears, a bit of dental work. I think the nose was a transplant.”

Martha was taken aback, but she’d certainly seen more unbelievable things. Right now, though, she wanted to focus on what was going on with the Doctor. “You look too tired for having been gone just a few hours, especially considering how you were running around here like a madman before you left.”

“I’ve had a bit of a bad day, in case you hadn’t noticed, Martha. And since when are you an expert on Time Lord physiology?”

His tone of voice was a bit on the nasty side, but she put it down to how tired he must be feeling. She said calmly, “I’m not, obviously, but this isn’t the first time since we arrived in New York that your energy level has made a ridiculously sharp turn.”

He frowned, then his eyebrows lifted in an expression of understanding. “Oh! That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“That’s just adrenalin.”

“Adrenalin?” That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. Nothing exotic or specifically Time Lordish, not even anything to do with his mental state. Just adrenalin. Well, an awful lot of extremely potent adrenalin apparently.

“Yes, useful stuff, adrenalin,” he said absently.

She thought a moment. Maybe his quick recovery on top of the Empire State could be explained by adrenalin, but what about later in the lab when Lazlo was dying? Then she realized she was assuming his body worked the same way a human’s would. “You can control it, can’t you? The release of adrenalin?”

“Of course I can. Wouldn’t be very useful if I couldn’t control it. Uncontrolled adrenalin leads to dropping things…” He stopped talking abruptly and grimaced. He obviously hadn’t meant to say that. He then quickly added, “And all sorts of other bothersome… effects.” So that explained why he’d dropped the sonic screwdriver on the Empire State. She’d written it off to the cold or the wind, but it must’ve been a massive flood of unwanted adrenalin, making his hands unsteady. And then the gamma radiation strike, followed by at least three more intentional hits of adrenalin – no wonder he was exhausted, coming down from all of that. Actually, it was a bit of a relief to her that the problem seemed to be only physical in nature and not a sign of impending mental breakdown.

He stretched his arms over his head and said, “I think I’ll go have a bit of a lie down. The TARDIS can take care of the flying for a bit.” He flipped one final switch and then – he yawned. He actually yawned. A huge yawn. And promptly looked embarrassed that he’d done it in front of her. “Really, really need to get some sleep, so if you don’t mind…”

He headed off towards the corridor leading into the interior of the TARDIS. She knew he needed to rest, she really did, but she couldn’t restrain her curiosity. “Do you do this all the time? The adrenalin, I mean.”

He stopped, sighed, and turned halfway back towards her. “No, I don’t, but throwing myself into the stream of a massive burst of gamma radiation took a bit out of me. Funny, that. It wasn’t exactly a good time to lie there and have a rest, so adrenalin. Kept me going, now we’re not going, and I’m going to rest.”

He turned and started to walk away a bit unsteadily, then completely lost his footing, fell sideways and barely managed to stop his fall by catching hold of the railing. Martha rushed to his side, hoping he was just so exhausted he’d lost his balance. She grabbed his arm to try and help steady him and asked, “Are you all right?”

She half-expected him to shrug the question off and grumble at her yet again that he just needed some sleep, but he swallowed hard and said, “No.” Then he groaned and doubled over in pain.

“Doctor?!” Martha called in alarm, holding tightly to his arm as he sank to the floor. He gave a long, low moan, then pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He pressed his head down onto his kneecaps so hard she was sure he’d have bruises on his forehead. This was definitely more than just being a bit tired. “Doctor, what’s wrong? Please tell me.”

A shiver ran through him and he started trembling as he gasped, “Too much. Toxic.” He curled up on himself even more tightly and started to rock slightly. “Adrenalin toxicity. Not good. Very, very not good.”

“But you said you can control it,” she said in alarm.

“I can. Usually.” He groaned again, longer and more loudly than before, though he struggled to hold it in. “Gamma radiation affected…” He had to repeatedly pause to catch his breath, the tendons in his neck standing out each time he spoke. “Affected my ability to… to metabolize it properly. It’s turning into… an acidic… acidic compound.” He gave a strangled laugh and started speaking more quickly, the pitch of his voice rising. “Thought I could get away before it got to this point, but you kept asking questions.” He broke off with a yell that sounded like a mixture of pain and frustration.

She took a moment to process all of that and to take a deep breath and calm herself. Then she got angry. If he hadn’t been in agony already, she would’ve slapped him. “You do know you could’ve waited and had a rest before you went back to get Lazlo, right? Time machine?”

He made a choking sound that she realized was meant to be a laugh. “I know. Don’t like to leave things unfinished. Thought I could handle it.”

Maybe she _would_ slap him later. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.” Then again, maybe she’d give him points for recognizing he was an idiot. And he _had_ pushed himself over the edge helping someone else. It wasn’t as if he’d gone out on the town and sunk a dozen pints of lager just for the hell of it.

She slipped one arm securely around his back and laid her other hand carefully on his shoulder. “What can I do?” she asked, her voice coming out steadier than she felt. “Is there anything that’ll help?”

He went still for a moment, apparently trying to think. If his arms weren’t deadlocked around his legs, she was sure both his hands would be buried in his hair and abusing it severely. She could feel his body tensing before he let out a sound that was positively anguished. Instinct and reflex made her pull his head tightly against her chest as he rode out the wave of pain. He finally went limp, gulping in huge breaths before gasping, “Tea. Tea might help.”

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Tea? Are you serious?”

“Yes, tea.” She could tell he was trying desperately to relax his muscles and at least partially succeeding. The pain seemed to be receding for the moment. “Tannins, antioxidants,” he mumbled. “You already know that, Rose.”

Martha sucked in a sharp breath. Was he hallucinating now?

He pulled away from her and sat for a moment with his head bowed and eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths. He finally said in an almost normal tone of voice, “No, no. Martha. You’re Martha. And you don’t know that, so I’m telling you now.”

He lifted his head, opened his eyes and let his arms fall to his sides, but then she felt his body tensing again. She initially thought another bout of pain was starting, but then she saw he’d straightened one of his legs out and was pressing his hands down on the grating. She realized he was trying to get up, so she scooted behind him, slid her hands under his arms and locked her fingers together on his chest. With the extra lift she was able to provide, he managed to heave himself to his feet. She didn’t let go until she was sure he’d gotten his balance, then she ducked her head under one of his arms to take some of his weight across her shoulders.

He nodded toward the exit from the control room and whispered, “Kitchen.”


	3. Burning

The Doctor and Martha managed together to stagger down the corridor to the kitchen, thankfully without any further spasms, but he was shaking from the exertion by the time they got there.

Martha carefully lowered him into a chair at the table, then went to get out the tea things. Fortunately, she’d been the last one to make the tea, so she knew where everything was. The Doctor tended to put things away in ridiculous places. She was still trying to figure out why he’d put the kettle in the refrigerator, with the kettle still plugged in no less.

She put the kettle on and got out a mug, then hesitated. There was a bewildering array of teas stocked in the TARDIS cupboards, many of them definitely not from Earth. She hadn’t been brave enough to try any of the unfamiliar ones yet.

She turned to look at him and noticed he’d managed to get his suit jacket off and had laid it across the seat of the chair next to him. At least that was an improvement on the floor. He never left his clothing on the floor, at least not that she’d seen. For all she knew, his bedroom might be strewn with piles of dirty laundry.

“Does it matter what kind of tea?” she asked as she watched him pull his tie off and drop it on top of the suit jacket. She hoped he wasn’t going to rattle off some name that sounded like gargling, because she’d have no idea how that was spelled, despite the TARDIS helpfully translating all the labels into phonetic English.

He began to slowly and deliberately undo the buttons on his shirt as he said, “No, doesn’t matter.” She was beginning to wonder if he was going to take his shirt off entirely, for what reason she couldn’t imagine, but he stopped with the top three buttons. “No, wait. Decaffeinated. Last thing I need is another stimulant.” He let his arms fall limply onto the tabletop. “And make it as strong as possible.”

His left hand twitched a couple of times before he pulled it into a fist. She noticed there was a fine sheen of sweat across his face and he was every bit as ghostly pale as he’d been when she’d found him lying unconscious on the platform at the top of the Empire State Building.

She pushed that uncomfortable memory aside and turned to rummage in one of the cupboards in search of decaffeinated tea. Not an easy undertaking. He seemed to prefer the caffeinated varieties. No surprise there. She finally found one lone box of decaf Earl Grey – that’d be nice and mild on his stomach – pulled out two teabags and put them both in the mug. Then she paused. He’d said make it as strong as possible. She added another teabag. That didn’t leave much room for water, though, so she took the lid off the teapot and dumped in those three tea bags plus a few more. She poured in hot water, but didn’t completely fill the teapot to help concentrate the tea.

While she was willing the tea to brew quickly and wondering if the extra teabags would compensate if she let them steep less time than usual, she heard him suck in his breath and let out a low moan. She turned in time to see his head slamming down onto the table. She winced. “Are you okay?” she asked, realizing as she said it that it was a completely ridiculous question. Of course he wasn’t okay. He opened one eye to look at her then closed it again and left his head on the table. Apparently he wasn’t even going to dignify the question with a response.

He was taking short and shallow breaths, but seemed to be resting for the moment, so she turned to check the strength of the tea. Good enough. She didn’t want to wait any longer. She removed the entire mass of dripping teabags and poured half a mug. As shaky as he was, he’d probably spill it if she filled it any more than that.

She put her hand on his back to get his attention and set the mug down on the table next to him. He sniffed and turned his head toward the tea, then opened bleary eyes. “Can you drink it without milk?” she asked. “I didn’t want to dilute it. I can add some sugar.”

Sitting up slowly, he drew the mug towards him. “No, this is fine. Just what I need.” As he cautiously raised the mug to his mouth, she moved his jacket and tie over one chair, sat down next to him and waited expectantly.

The mug rattled a bit against his teeth, but he managed to take a fairly large swallow, then another and another. The tea was still scalding hot, but that didn’t seem to affect him. Then he paused with the mug hovering near his mouth, and his eyes went wide. “Or not,” he choked out. He gagged as he slammed the mug onto the table, then clapped a hand over his mouth, pushed himself up and lurched over to the sink. He grabbed the edge of the counter as everything he’d just drunk came right back up.

She was more than a bit taken aback. Yawning, now vomiting. Maybe he wasn’t quite as different as she’d told Tallulah.

Right. She’d dealt with people getting sick often enough during her shifts in A and E. She could handle this. At least he’d had the presence of mind to get it in the sink and not on the floor, himself or her. She got up and went over to him, then turned the water on to rinse everything down the drain. He was still clutching the counter, panting and staring hard at the bottom of the sink. As she waited, fairly certain he wasn’t done, she rubbed gentle circles on his back. He gagged and brought up some more tea, then retched and dry heaved. She bit her lower lip. She hated that part. Would almost set her off every time. Fortunately, he only did it a couple of times and then went still.

He turned off the water with a shaky hand and drew the back of his hand across his mouth, then stretched his arm out next to the sink and rested his head on it. His eyes were open but he seemed to be staring blankly at nothing in particular. He looked so vulnerable and agonizingly human to her at that moment that it made her stomach twist almost painfully.

After a moment, he closed his eyes and started to slide down towards the floor. She helped him to sit down with his back against the lower cabinets and his legs stretched out in front of him. Crouching down next to him, she said, “So tea is apparently not the answer. Is there anything else we can try?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, don’t want to try anything else, thank you very much. My body’s starting to break the acid down into relatively harmless components, but there’s still quite a bit of residual adrenalin, and it’s still metabolizing into acid. This is probably going to get worse before it gets better. Sorry. Oh, very sorry. Sorrier than sorry.”

She smiled faintly. “No need to apologize. You’re still an idiot, though.” He made a huffing sound that might’ve been laughter if he hadn’t been so wrung out. Her stomach twisted again. “How about we move you somewhere a little more comfortable?”

He immediately said, “No,” then gulped. “No, I’d really rather not try to move at the moment.” He put his hands on the floor and pushed himself away from the cabinets, then laid down on his side. He curled up slightly and pressed the side of his face against the floor. “Ah, cool tile. I love tile. Cleans up very nicely too if one happens to be sick on it. But I really hope that’s not going to happen again.” As he closed his eyes, he wrapped his arms across his chest. A tremor rippled through his body and he started to shiver.

“Are you cold?” she asked, hoping that was all it was. That was easily dealt with.

“A bit.”

“Will you be all right here by yourself for a minute?”

“Not going anywhere,” he mumbled.

She smiled fondly at him, resisting the urge to brush his fringe off his forehead. She had a feeling that even in his exhausted state, he wouldn’t appreciate it at all.

She got up, went to her bedroom and pulled a spare pillow and duvet out of the wardrobe. Went she got back to the kitchen, he appeared to be asleep. His body was  more relaxed even though he was still shivering slightly, and he was breathing slowly and deeply, albeit with an occasional catch on inhaling. She stood there and looked at him for a moment. His face looked so young with his eyes closed. Now it was her heart that was twisting.

His shoulders twitched, knocking his head against the floor a couple of times. That quickly broke her out of her reverie. She spread the duvet over him, knelt beside him and tucked the pillow under his head, then settled herself crossed-legged next to him. Without thinking, she found herself brushing at his hair, but he only shifted a little and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Go ‘way. Wanna sleep.”

She gave his hair another good ruffle, causing his forehead to wrinkle in annoyance, and then she leaned her head back against the cupboards. She was starting to drift off herself when he gasped. She jerked her head back up and found him looking at her with his lips pressed so tightly together they’d been leeched of all color. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t really sleeping. Are the pains coming back?”

She could tell he was thinking about lying, but she fixed him with a no-nonsense stare. He reluctantly nodded his head. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wracking her brain for something she could do. “Is there anything I can give you, painkillers, muscle relaxants?”

“Mostly allergic to painkillers, muscle relaxants really, really make me ill. Really. Horribly ill. Best just to let my body sort through this itself.”

A moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his head down as a violent spasm ran through him. This was going to be a long night, or whatever part of the day it was supposed to be.


	4. Waiting

Over the following hours, Martha could do little more than watch over the Doctor as he writhed and shook on the floor through bout after bout of pain. She did her best to soothe him, rubbing his arm and murmuring to him over and over again that it would be okay. That was a platitude she normally hated, but she couldn’t think of anything else and she doubted he was really registering what she was saying. It was more so he would hear the sound of a voice and know he wasn’t alone.

She put the pillow back under his head whenever he squirmed off it, smoothed and tucked the duvet back around him when he flung it off or his legs got tangled in it. Took his shoes off after he gave her a good crack in the shin. Mismatched socks, one red, one blue. That surprised her a bit since his clothing was usually so well coordinated, but it also didn’t surprise her at all when she considered his attention to fashion detail seemed to stop at his ankles.

She kneaded impossibly tight muscles in his legs and back when they cramped. Held his hands tightly when he tried to claw at himself in the insanity of a particularly horrible series of spasms. Cradled his head in her lap when he started banging the back of his head so hard against the floor that it didn’t matter that there was a pillow in between. She even resorted to singing odd bits of songs, mostly things her mother sang to her when she was small. Oddly enough, that seemed to calm him more than anything. One time he even started to hum along a bit.

There were brief periods of calm when the Doctor slept or possibly passed out. She wasn’t sure which, not that it really mattered, but he did finally fall into a deeply exhausted slumber, lying bonelessly on his back with his head turned into the pillow and one hand resting slightly curled next to his cheek, angry red fingernail impressions denting his palm. Only then did she tuck herself sitting up into the corner of the cabinets and allow herself to tumble headlong into fractured dreams.

When she woke what felt like some time later, she found the duvet spread over her and the pillow wedged between her head and the cabinets. She looked around, blinking groggily, and realized she smelled tea. She finally focused on the Doctor sitting at the table, slowly sipping at a cup and apparently lost in thought. He looked every bit like he’d slept on the floor in his clothing, all wrinkled and rumpled and mussed, but his face was relaxed and his eyes were clear. She even thought she could detect a faint flush of color in his cheeks.

She cleared her throat as she pushed the duvet aside and started to stand up. He took a deep breath, breaking off from whatever it was he was thinking about, then smiled at her and nudged another mug that was sitting on the table. “Made some for you.” His voice cracked a little as he spoke and he had to swallow hard and take another sip of tea. He looked at her over the rim of the mug with a ghost of worry in his eyes. Worry for her? That was ridiculous considering what he’d been through. Worry that she would think less of him after seeing his vulnerability? Again, ridiculous, not that he would necessarily see it that way.

She brushed and tugged self-consciously at her clothing – she was more than a little rumpled herself – as she walked over to the table and sat down. She noticed the tea was fresh and steaming, and raised an eyebrow at him. “How did you know I was going to wake up just now?”

He smirked and said enigmatically, “I know these things. Time Lord, remember?”

She leaned over to look a little more closely at him. “Hmm. More like lucky timing. You just woke up yourself.”

His smile faltered. “How did you know that?”

She poked a finger at his cheek. “Pillow creases.”

“Oh.” He rubbed at the side of his face, chagrined.

She leaned back and took a peek under the table. “And you haven’t put your shoes back on. Did you know your socks don’t match?”

He sat up straight and gave her an indignant look. “I’ll have you know they’re supposed to be two different colors. Not every race in the universe thinks their socks have to be the same color.”

She laughed and reached for her mug. “Fair enough. I’ll bet some of them even have more than two feet.”

He wagged a finger at her and smiled. “Now you’re learning.” He said it like he planned on keeping her around for a while. If he wasn’t going to send her packing after this, then maybe she could stop worrying that she’d overstayed her welcome every time she said something less than brilliant or felt like she was only getting in the way.

The first sip of tea was heaven – Darjeeling, just the right amount of milk and sugar, so points to him for remembering how she liked her tea. Mid-sip she noticed a plate of biscuits on the table and quite a few crumbs scattered on the tabletop in front of him. “Ooo,” she said in delight, “Biccies for breakfast. How decadent.” She helped herself to one drizzled with chocolate, then added, “Assuming it _is_ breakfast time.”

He shrugged. “Time is relative. If you just woke up, it’s breakfast.”

She swallowed what she was chewing and said, “Clever. Very clever.”

“Yes. I am.” He nodded sagely.

She rolled her eyes, then threw the rest of her biscuit at him. It caught him squarely on the side of the head, eliciting an offended “Oi!”

Carried away by the refreshing playfulness of the moment, she sat up straight and put her hands on her hips. “Oi? I sit up all night with you while you’re ill, and that’s what I get? Oi?”

He immediately sobered and looked straight at her, his eyes warm and gentle. “No. No, you get a thank you. A very sincere thank you.”

Her smile faltered. It was very disarming, the amount of sincerity he could put into “thank you” and “I’m sorry.” She muttered, “You’re welcome,” as she looked down and self-consciously tucked a stray bit of hair back behind her ear. She swore she was blushing and was very annoyed at herself for doing so.

Then he added, “And all the tea and biccies you want, chocolate-covered or otherwise. Plenty more in the cupboards. Help yourself. I’m going to take a shower.”

She watched him get stiffly to his feet and flinched as he tipped his head from side to side, causing his neck to crack. That reminded her... “Doctor?” she said hesitantly. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She clearly remembered his berating her earlier for asking too many questions, but she felt like she had to ask now, while he seemed to be feeling especially generous towards her. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask. I can’t quite figure it out, very much _not_ being an expert in Time Lord physiology.” He didn’t comment on that, just nodded at her to go on. “With the Plasmavore. I was sure CPR wasn’t going to work on you, but obviously it did. I didn’t think you’d have enough blood left in your system to get your hearts started again.”

“Ah,” he said as he gingerly sat down again. “I still had plenty of blood left. I stopped my hearts after she poked me with that… straw.” He grimaced and rubbed at his neck. “It was very sharp and pointy, by the way, don’t know if I ever mentioned that. In any event, without blood pressure, she had to work for it. Still managed to get enough that I sort of… passed out without getting my hearts started back up again. There’s another thank you I owe you.”

She gave a crooked smile and took a moment to digest his explanation. “You’ve got quick a few tricks up your sleeve,” was all she could think to say. Oh, but she was tired, mind and body.

“No, nothing up my sleeve but an arm. Although,” and he started to roll up his sleeve, “there’s this – thing – I can do with my left elbow.” He stopped and frowned. “Nah, don’t think you want to see that.”

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, “Oh, I do, I do. Go right ahead. I’m not at all squeamish.”

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully as he rolled his sleeve back down. “I noticed that. Arm’s a bit stiff right now. Probably wouldn’t work.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied sarcastically. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “But it seems to me you might want to fill me in a bit more on your physiology, seeing as we’re three for four with me having to look after you in some way.”

“You have not had to – ” He stopped and looked up at the ceiling, apparently reviewing their brief acquaintance and probably trying to figure a way he could insist he would’ve been fine without her. Which honestly he would have been, probably, except for that first time, in which case there wouldn’t have been the other times. “Fine,” he said as he looked her sternly in the eye. “But we’re not going to sit here with you looking at me like I’ve sprouted another head, and no, before you ask, I’ve never had more than one head. There’s a book in the library, if I remember correctly. You’re more than welcome to poke around in that all you want. Just… don’t do it while I’m around.”

“Agreed.” She’d look for the book later. The prospect of having questions answered that she hadn’t even thought of yet definitely had its appeal, but right now, a shower and sleep were more enticing to her.

“So are you done with me now?” he asked with plainly evident impatience.

She made a show of thinking for a moment, then smiled. “Yes, quite finished. For the moment.”

“Good,” he said as he stood up again. “Then here’s me off to the shower.” He turned to go, but then paused and rubbed his cheek as he looked back to frown at her. “Pillow creases? Really?”

She nodded. “Yep. Pillow creases. One really big one,” she pointed, “running from the corner of your eye to your chin. You drool when you’re asleep too.”

He stopped rubbing his cheek, glared at her in offense and said, “Time Lords do not drool.”

“Well then, you were salivating if that sounds any better to you. Salivating copiously.” She laughed as he opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and left the room without saying another word.

She smiled to herself. It all felt so right, and so comfortable to her at that moment. Then she recalled what Tallulah had said to her, about not letting the Doctor look right through her. But he didn’t always look right through her. She really did feel he was coming to appreciate her in many ways. Maybe he didn’t look at her in the way she might’ve liked, but this was more than good enough for now. She could at least be his companion, she could hold his hand, and that mattered a great deal to her. A very great deal indeed.

*****

The End


End file.
